


Little Rifts

by fourthage



Series: Ranelle Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthage/pseuds/fourthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one's more surprised than Ranelle to find that she's fallen for a shemlen, one who's an ex-Templar to boot.  A series of non-chronological vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late Night Talk

It was cold in the mountains at night.  There was a fire in her room, but Ran needed to learn this new home of hers without being stared at by the curious.  She wrapped a fur around her shoulders, grateful for the extra warmth as her bare toes curled against the cold stone.  Shemlen had floor coverings, didn't they?  She'd have to suggest it to Josephine.  
  
The rotunda was dark, Solas no doubt holed up somewhere to explore in his own way, and the rustle of crow wings echoed in the empty space.  If she closed her eyes, Ran could almost pretend she was back with her clan, listening to the wind blow against the aravels.  She let herself indulge in the fantasy for a few homesick moments.  There was a single candle left on the table, and she lit it with a thought and took it with her as she continued on.  
  
She let the corridors take her where they would, learning Skyhold's shape and rhythm the way she would learn the lay of a new camp.  Her path circled in and down, to an old forgotten library that smelled of stale air and old leather, then back up and out to the cool night air, until the way disappeared into a fall of masonry.  There was a roof not far below.  The moon was full and the night was bright—did she dare?  
  
Ran blew out the candle and jumped.  The angle of the roof was steeper than she thought, and there was brief, awful slide that she only stopped by throwing herself backwards.  She laughed, flat on her back and spread-eagled.  A call came from one of the sentries, and she waved to show she was all right.  
  
That was that then.  Time to head back to her room before someone recognized her.  She scooted to the edge of the roof and dropped—carefully—to the stone steps below.  The closest door led to the kitchens; she was pretty sure she could find her way back from there.  
  
A rush of warm air and that thick, yeasty smell she'd come to associate with shemlen cooking hit her when she re-entered the hold.  The wall scones were lit, and she blinked at the unexpected light.  In the middle of the kitchen was Cullen, armorless, hands and wrists powdered white, clearly startled to see her.  
  
“Inquisitor,” he said.  “I did not think anyone would still be up.”  
  
“I didn't either.”  Ran wasn't sure how to address him.  He was the Commander of the Inquisition, and she was, as of that morning, the Inquisitor, but such titles seemed out of place here, in the quiet of the night.  More than that, there was a fragile respect between them ever since the attack on Haven that she was loathe to disturb.    
  
Cullen's shoulders flexed back, and she realized she'd been staring.  “I'm sorry,” she said.  “I thought you wouldn't still look as big.”  
  
“You what?”  
  
“Without the armor.  I'm used to shemlen—humans—making themselves look bigger with it.  But you look the same.”  
  
He looked down at himself, and a hint of color appeared on his cheeks.  “My apologies.  I would not have appeared in such a state of undress if I'd known I'd have company.”  
  
What an odd thing to say.  He was wearing as much as any of the tradesman.  Ran wondered if they were his nightclothes.  Humans seemed to think the clothes they slept in were more scandalous than their daywear, regardless of what was revealed.  Should she leave?  They'd only just started getting along, she didn't want to ruin it by discomfiting him.  
  
He took the decision out of her hands by speaking again.  “I used to help my mother make bread, before I left to join the Templars.  She would let me shape the loaves and I would nap in the afternoon sun while they rose.  I find it helps when I cannot sleep.”  Cullen smiled at the memory.  “And the kitchen staff are never sorry to find loaves already risen and ready for baking in the morning.”  
  
“You have trouble sleeping?”  
  
Cullen winced, as if he had admitted something he wished he hadn't.  “Sometimes.  It does not happen often.”  
  
That didn't seem like the whole truth, but things were too delicate between them yet to push.  
  
Ran inched closer as he started kneading the dough again.  She'd had bread before, but the making of it was a mystery.  It was...strange to watch.  The sword calluses on his hands spoke to a life spent as a warrior, so at odds with the domesticity of their current occupation.  She was beginning to think that Cullen had many such contradictions.    
  
She let her fur wrap loosen as she warmed up, content to stay silent and watch as Cullen worked the dough.  He glanced at her at the movement, but, much to her amusement, quickly averted his eyes and kept them firmly on his work.  After a bit, he separated the dough into four sections, then made each into a round ball before setting them on a long wooden board next to the fire.  
  
The bell outside rang for the changing of sentries.  It was an hour past midnight.  
  
“I should go,” Ran said.  She was tired and yet she felt reluctant to leave.  
  
“Yes, I should as well.”  Cullen dusted his hands off.  He stood there awkwardly when she made no move to go.  
  
“This was...”  What?  Relaxing?  The first time she'd ever felt truly at ease with a human?  “Nice,” she finished.  
  
“It was.”  He sounded surprised as he said it.  “You will have to tell me what you think of my efforts tomorrow.”  
  
She didn't usually eat bread at breakfast.  But...  
  
 “I will,” she said.


	2. Masquerade

Cullen hadn't been sure about his costume, and Ran taking one look and laughing herself silly wasn't helping.  He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.  It wasn't heavy, but it was hot and itched something horrible.  The motion brushed fur against his nose, and he sneezed.  
  
“Was that-” Ran gasped for breath between giggles.  “Was that Leliana's suggestion or Josephine's?”  
  
“Maker knows.  Josephine said I'd find it familiar, and Leliana just smiled.  You know how she smiles.  It's terrifying.”  
  
Ran got herself under control and came closer.  She smoothed the fur back, then rose on her toes to plant a kiss on his chin, the only part of his face left uncovered.  “Your collar is rather lion-like,” she said.  “And you do look imposing.”  
  
“As long as no one pinches me again.”  
  
“I'd like to see them try.”  Ran scowled.  The most adorable line formed between her brows when she did that.  Cullen wanted to kiss it, but the mask hung over his mouth, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to get it straight again without help.  He settled for rubbing her brow gently with his thumb until her expression lightened.  
  
“No costume for you?” he asked, taking in her plain clothes.  
  
“Oh.”  Ran began to scowl again.  “I have a costume.  Sent by one of the marquises.  I'm not wearing it.”  
  
“Surely it's not that bad.”  
  
Ran pressed her lips together and stalked over to the bed.  There was a large flat box sitting on the duvet, and she pulled something green and floaty from it.  She turned, holding the garment at arms length.  
  
There were ribbons.  Lots of ribbons.  Bits of fabric twisted to imitate tree branches rose from each shoulder, and fluttering layers of green suggested leaves in the wind.  It had no sleeves, a plunging neckline, and the skirt looked like it would end above her knees.  
  
“That's...” Cullen trailed off, made speechless by the audacity of sending her such a thing.  No noblewoman would show that much skin, costume party or not.  
  
Ran shook it in disgust, then pulled some of the ribbons off.  “It's a shemlen's idea of what an elf would wear.”  There was hurt in her voice,  and Cullen moved without thought in answer to it.  He took the outfit from her and tossed it on to a chair.  
  
“We'll find something else,” he said.  “I'm sure Josephine has a favor she can call in.”  
  
“No.”  Ran drew herself up blade-straight.  “I'm not playing their game.  I'll go like this and just let them say something.”  
  
She would do it.  Cullen loved the thought, loved her for the idea, but even he knew the court would tear her to bits for it.  He put a hand on her waist and pulled her close.    
  
“I will,” she muttered into his chest.  He smoothed a line down her spine and her shoulders sagged.  “I hate this place.”  
  
“Let Josephine fix it,” he said.  “She'll come up with something that's appropriate and shames the person who sent you that.”  Ran gave a watery laugh.  “And they _should_ be shamed for it.”  The statement came out more forcefully than he intended, and Ran leaned back, surprise on her face.  She looked at him for a long moment, then hooked her fingers under his mask and pushed up.  
  
“What—”  
  
“Take this thing off so I can kiss you.”  The mask lifted, and she grabbed two handfuls of the mane around his ears and dragged him down to her mouth.  The angle was awkward and he was still hot and itchy, and it was absolutely wonderful.  Her eyes were bright when they parted again.  
  
“All right,” she said, tugging his mask back down.  He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist before his mouth was covered again and she bit her lip.  “Let's go find Josephine before I ruin _two_ costumes.”


End file.
